


Drink Down That Gin and Kerosene in a Weak Attempt to Kill Yourself, Because Holy Shit That Was Embarrassing

by peachwentz



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, High School AU, Is this even an AU, Kissing, M/M, Pining, it's teen 'cause swearing, modern day AU, what is happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachwentz/pseuds/peachwentz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A piece of paper found its way to his desk, and in quick, chicken-scratch, blocky writing, the note read, "sorry i got way too into playing house and accidentally kissed u rly passionately".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink Down That Gin and Kerosene in a Weak Attempt to Kill Yourself, Because Holy Shit That Was Embarrassing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pinkstationfrerard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkstationfrerard/gifts).



> i am lowkey proud of this one, i just wish it could've been made longer without dragging :0 i gifted this work to "pinkstationfrerard" because i used his last name for one of the extra characters ;-) enjoy

One of the many existential crises of high school, isthe age-old proclamation of, " _But I want to be ____! Why do I have to take a _____ class_?!" Often seen in the form of English majors bellyaching over math and science, the problem also manifests itself in the form of, " _I don't actually give a shit about drama, I want to be a geneticist_."

Which, sophomore Patrick Stump, was becoming all too familiar with. He came from a religious family, sure, but the existence of God had always been something that Patrick had taken lightly, and questioned. In fact, his copy of, _The Origin of Species_ had run quite thin. Geneticism interested him mostly because, if there is no God, and playing God is controversial in science and morals, why not just _become_ God? The limits of DNA and cloning and creating genetic code for faux designed chromosomes are endless.

For one thing, Ms. Gomez's drama class was so boring that it had to go against the Geneva Convention somewhere. She droned on unnecessarily, mulling over things like, " _The origin of theatre_ ," and why improvisation could actually be a helpful life skill. In fact, Patrick was almost completely certain that a cloud of black matter rolling in and swallowing up his existence to never be seen again was quite a luster alternative to listening to Gomez.

"I want you to act from the gut, from the _soul._ "

Patrick took a deep breath, and summoned up every ounce of will-power that miraculously remained in his body to keep from rising out of his seat, flipping the desk, and sinking into the cheap, tricolor tile.

"Everyone is going to be given a group of four. Two children, two parents. You're going to have to come up with an elaborate, dramatic, skit for all of us. Playing house," The teacher explained, and she must've been on some kind of medication, because she looked far too happy to be talking about something like acting.

The only other kid in the room looking more worthy of a suicide watch in Gomez's over glorified lecture, was the boy with the weird, short dreads, one earring a gauge larger than the other, and two visible tattoos. God only knows how many more there were.

Patrick didn't know him, per se, but he did know that Mysterious Dreads Boy was captain of the varsity soccer team, and that he'd probably slept with half the student body, although nobody could confirm or deny such a statistic.

Patrick was pretty ready for death at that point, especially when the teacher announced that one of the "children" in his group was a stuck-up senior girl named Lucy, and another was a boy named Alex, who nobody actually had heard speak since his freshman year. Or, so the rumor said.

The situation couldn't have gotten much worse, at least the sophomore was pretty sure. He had resigned himself to pressing his forehead against the cheaply polished wood, covered in Sharpie penises and chips dug out by bored pencil lead. In fact, Patrick was just starting to accept his fate – _just_ starting to convince himself that maybe Lucy Broderick and Alex Rasmussen were the least of his worries, that _maybe_ it wasn't going to be as bad as his brain was making it out to be. Then, his feeble sheen of positivity was shattered by an arrow, an arrow that came in the form of saying, "Peter Wentz will be the other parent in Patrick's group!" If death had looked glamorous before, it was much more alluring then. Like, Pepsi in the Sahara alluring.

It took an iron wrought will to contain the loud, angry groan threatening to push out of Patrick's mouth, and it was bubbling in the back of his throat for two reasons: One, Pete Wentz was well-known, universal douchebag, and had his fair share of picking on Patrick, even if it was stupid snide comments of, "Wow, you actually like the chicken nuggets here?", even though they were seriously just the fucking Costco brand. Patrick didn't dare say that, of course. Two, Patrick found Pete ridiculously attractive, almost to an intimidating degree, and putting together a dramatic rendition of the childhood game of house with him wasn't exactly at the top of his priory list.

"Please assemble in your groups!" Ms. Gomez chirped.

Her bun was pulled so tight that her skin had to have been lifted with it, giving her sort of Yzma look. The thought was sort of amusing. The next door ethics teacher, Mr. O'Connell, could be her Kronk.

Patrick stood up, pushed his glasses up his face, and shoved both hands into the front pockets on his hoodie. Lucy was wearing shoes that no doubt cost more than a week's worth of Patrick's outfits, and her lipstick was smudged in the left corner. She looked like what he imagined a 90's Barbie would if it were put through a minute cycle in a microwave; melted, fake. Pete was looking just as douchey and angsty as ever, like he'd rather be taking cover from the war in Syria than moving from his desk to Patrick's side of the room, where Lucy and Alex had already congregated, and she had met her quota of unnecessary glaring just from those few seconds.

"Uh, do you...D'ya wanna talk about, like, what we're actually going to _do_?" The squishy blond asked, looking down at the dingy, off-white, cheaply color-flecked tile. Nobody said anything, and then Lucy huffed like she'd just been told she had to walk up six flights of stairs in those ridiculous shoes, which actually looked like gentle Louboutin's. Patrick wondered how her parents had such a disposable income.

"I don't know, maybe like, um, you and Pete are trying to adopt us? But you can't, 'cause nobody lets the gays have kids." Lucy declared.

Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and curled his mouth in on itself, threw himself onto a completely different astral plane of existence, screamed into the void of that plane, and then, returned to his body and sighed. The ignorance and offense in that statement was appalling, but instead of confronting it, the sophomore just nodded.

"Perfect."

Alex, as per usual, said nothing, and Pete just shrugged. Nobody gave him shit for his open bisexuality, although no one else saw him as enough of a hero to come out themselves. "Yeah, we could do that. We could even hold hands," Pete suggested.

At first, Patrick thought he was kidding, maybe being sarcastic in the way that he was piggybacking off of Lucy's ridiculously bigoted statement, but then, when Pete didn't look up from his awkward stare at the floor, or so much as crack a side smile, the younger, slightly squishy boy realized he was serious. His cheeks flushed pink, and he had to look away to avoid the inevitable embarrassment that would ensue if a member of his group witnessed the flushed hue. Patrick, the lowly sophomore that was practically invisible to the entire student body, save for one person, was going to pretend to be in a relationship with legendary senior Pete Wentz for a drama grade. The thought was a bit crazy, even if it was just for school.

"...Yeah, o-okay. Maybe um, maybe Lucy could be a child we already have? Through like, a surrogate or something? Then uh, then maybe we could be trying to adopt Alex? It would be like House, but uh, incorporating social issues," Patrick babbled.

It wasn't until afterward that he realized how awkward he sounded. Lucy snorted, and Patrick was almost sure he saw her loose foundation powder rustle around the edges of her nostrils. The whole experience of high school was nothing like Hollywood portrayed it, and for that, Patrick rued the entire film industry, and the day he entered the public education system, for that matter.

"Sounds good," Pete finally spoke, and the words felt like the awkward guitarist's saving grace.

"Great," Patrick affirmed, and Lucy just stared at the rest of the group. Alex looked the most bleak and uninterested, and Patrick was starting to wonder if the title of, " _Student in Gomez's Classroom Most Worthy of Being Put on a Suicide Watch During Her Period_ " should be transferred from Pete to the mute boy.

"How is being gay a social issue?" The preppy senior chimed in.

"The adoption process," Patrick said quietly, ready to leave his body to once again scream off into the void of a higher astral plane for the second time that period.

"Alright, so, we should do this in the way that shows same-sex couples are the same as everyone else. Just, y'know, slightly unconventional. It could be implied that Pete and I have been waiting _months_ to adopt Alex, and finally we've been approved or something. The anticipation of waiting and then the joy following just kind of reiterate the struggle and bigotry," The strawberry blond boy babbled.

The only one who looked genuinely interested was Alex, and if Patrick didn't (think) he knew any better, he'd swear on his life that Pete was inconspicuously flirting with Lucy. "Great, yeah," Pete said, looking up and scratching at the back of his neck.

The stupid soccer captain couldn't have sounded less enthused even if he tried, and honestly, Patrick didn't care about the entire assignment, but he couldn't afford to fail because of such a stupid, insignificant class. What made it even worse was that each group only had 20 minutes to prepare, which made it stupidly hard, because Alex didn't do anything but stand around, and Lucy tried to play everything up about five levels too many. It was messy, and Patrick was so happy his heart wasn't set on anything like Juilliard, because that performance alone would've ruined his chances entirely.

The space they had to perform was ridiculously small, because they didn't even have a _stage_ , it was the 15 or so feet at the front of the classroom. In all honestly, it started out decent. The dialogue was mostly Patrick, with Alex standing awkwardly, Lucy dramatically asking Pete for things like a child would (or so she claimed). Then, the mock adoption set in.

Patrick pretended to get a phone call, and then, pretended to cry, jumping in jubilation with his hands held tightly in Pete's. It was funny, because Pete looked genuinely happy, as if he had really just been given the permission to legally adopt an awkward 17 year old mute boy. Pete's hands were rough and calloused, which left Patrick quite curious as to what instrument (or sport) could've made them that way.

Their skit was close to its closure, with the dramatic happiness still ringing through both Pete and Patrick masquerading as Sam and John Smith (creativity obviously wasn't Patrick's strong suit in pressured instances); then, the whole thing took the most unexpected, earth shattering one-eighty that could've potentially occurred. Without any type of warning, Patrick felt Pete's hands on his face, and then, in front of God and everybody, they were kissing.

The sophomore's eyes were wide, and the classroom made a collective noise of shock. There was even a snicker from one of the corners. Patrick's cheeks were on fire, and the students were all left in such an appalled state that nobody said anything, even when Pete pulled away. He was smirking, but was clearly just as mortified as Patrick.

Two or three people clapped slowly, and Lucy looked like she was going to spontaneously combust, or potentially have a brain aneurysm of some kind.

"Wh-What was that for?" Patrick whispered, cheeks growing hotter by the second. Pete's blush faltered, but his smirk was steady.

"We are a couple after all, right?"

The sophomore felt like he was going to lose his footing, so he locked his knees, and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Then, acting solely on rash decision and the ideal that " _Who cares because it just happened, it can happen again"_ , Patrick leaned in, and kissed Pete.

The second time, Gomez yelled, and even walked up to them, to try and disperse them to their own seats, _away_ from each other. Patrick considered moving to Africa, maybe the deep jungle of Peru, or possibly setting up a house at the peak of Mount Everest, far from Ms. Gomez and Pete and the humiliating snickers, but he didn't stop kissing the soccer player. Pete didn't stop kissing back.

Once Ms. Gomez had pushed them apart by their shoulders, Patrick had to fight back tears because of how ridiculously objectifying that was, but he managed to sit down (next to Pete) in his desk without incident. The class didn't even have time to recoup, and quite honestly, neither did Patrick, because he was left shaking and blushing.

A piece of paper found its way to his desk, and in quick, chicken-scratch, blocky writing, the note read, " _sorry i got way too into playing house and accidentally kissed u rly passionately_ ".

Patrick grinned, turned his head so Pete couldn't see, then scrawled back. " _Sorry I kissed you passionately right back_ ".

The reply on the little note being passed back and forth was quite possibly more shocking than the preceding events. Clearer than the kiss that had happened, and was no doubt being blasted on Snapchat, the rushed writing read, " _im not_ ".


End file.
